Page 52 of The Bratva's Christmas Bump
What the hell is he doing here? Did he follow me here or something?
Just as my annoyance spikes, the crowd parts slightly and his suit is just as exquisitely fitted as everyone else's. And someone stands next to him, talking his ear off, even though his attention is clearly elsewhere.
He didn’t follow me here. Maxim was invited. No wonder Stu and Toto were so concerned about this being the address.
If Maxim is here, then this is no ordinary party.
Suddenly, every pair of eyes on me becomes a threat. Handsome men morph into dangerous killers and beautiful women become cold assassins. My heart begins to race and my hand trembles as I drink.
If this party is in Maxim’s world, am I even safe? Did he even know I was coming?
Judging by his calm expression, there’s nothing around to visibly concern him and once he catches my eye, his lips curl up into a slight, knowing smile.
If he isn’t worried, then why should I be?
My timer ends, my break is over, and it’s back to the music. Only this time, Maxim stands out like a beacon in the crowd and I can’t tear my attention away from him. The growing crowd melts into the shadows, the lights dim, and it feels like I’m playing just for him. So I play harder. I pour everything I have into the music, caress my violin like a lover, and lock eyes with Maxim through every flourish and accent that I bring to familiar Christmas songs that everyone loves.
He never looks away.
Somehow, that makes me feel safe, that even in this crowded room filled with likely criminals, I’m not under any threat.
As my bow glides over the strings to the final notes of my last song, a loud applause rises up from the gatherers who chose to admire my playing over dancing themselves. It’s then that Maxim vanishes, swallowed by a crowd that surges forward with such loud praise that I can barely decipher any of the words. People clap and compliment my style, my poise, my playing, and my flair as I try to climb down from the stage, and just when it grows overwhelming, a rough hand suddenly glides into mine and the crowd falls silent.
Maxim.
His presence is enough to disperse the crowd within seconds, and there’s not a single complaint from anyone. With flushed cheeks and sweat clinging to the back of my neck, I gratefully clutch his hand while he leads me silently through the room andout a set of glass doors onto a glittering, snow-covered patio. The chill in the air momentarily soothes my overheating skin, but just as the biting cold grows too much, Maxim’s suit jacket lands heavily over my shoulders.
“Thanks,” I say, finally finding my voice. Despite the clammy sweat coating my arms, his jacket is welcoming and I huddle inside it, wrapping it around my shoulder while soaking up his lingering warmth.
“I had no idea you could play like that,” Maxim says as he steps down from the patio and onto a rocky path illuminated by garden lights.
“You never asked to see me play,” I reply, following him carefully in my heels.
“You’re right. My error.” He speaks quietly, as if fearing the falling snow will steal away his words if he speaks too loudly.
“I didn’t know you would be here.” Stepping from smooth rock to smooth rock, I follow until my heel slips on some snow. Before I can fall, Maxim’s arm is there for me to grasp and I gratefully cling to his elbow.
“I didn’t know you would be, either.”
Smirking softly, I glance up at him. “You never asked me where I was performing.”
“It felt like prying. Given everything that’s happened, I’ve been trying to respect what privacy you have left.”
What a surprising answer. “Curiosity isn’t prying. Unless you decide to force me to tell you something I don’t want to.”
“I don’t intend for that to happen.” Maxim keeps his walking pace slow after my slip. “Would you have told me if I asked?”
I squint up at the dark sky, watching the snowflakes seemingly materialize from nothing. “I don’t know. Maybe not. But why are you here?”
“I enjoy parties.”
“Is everyone in there like you?”
“In what way?”
“Mafia.”
Maxim comes to a stop under a wooden trellis covered in vines and snowdrops that look synthetic. He turns to face me, gazing down with blue eyes so intense that they draw me in like rolling dark waves.
